Things that Go Bump in the Night
by celadon
Summary: Sometimes, the safest thing to do on Halloween is stay home and pass out candy.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Well, here I am again. I apologize for my disappearance, but my life got so complicated that I finally had to put everything down and do only what was directly in front of me. Now I hope all that is behind me and I can play again. This is a Halloween story I wanted to write in response to last year's challenge on the Live Journal Don Hurt/Comfort page (What: Magic, Where: Graveyard) and I was determined to get it on paper for this year. I was equally determined not to post until it was finished, so that I could break my streak of leaving things unfinished. So now that this one is done, I will finish **Ice** and **Carousel** and hopefully a whole lot more. In fact, while I was writing this I realized that each one I had written so far included Don with one of the other characters: Don and Nikki, Don and Billy, and in this one, Don and Colby. I decided to try and answer each challenge pairing Don with another one of the regular characters until I cover them all. _

_This was supposed to post in three parts (Halloween, All Souls Day, and All Saints Day) but the final part got so long that it will now post in four._

_**Things that Go Bump in the Night**_

Colby groaned. "You gotta be kidding. Here? Really? Tonight? What is it with you and your hunches?"

Don's eyes swept the area outside the car window, one hand releasing his seatbelt, the other on his gun butt. "Not superstitious are you, Colb?"

Colby made a face, releasing his own door. "I'm just wondering why they never lead any place nice - like a sauna or a strip club or something."

Don smirked, keeping his voice low. "Hey, I don't choose 'em, I just follow 'em. See anything?"

Colby grunted, pushing the car door shut behind him. "Just a lot of dark and a whole string of tombstones."

"Yeah, well, this has worked out for me before. You wouldn't believe how many murderers can't stay away. Just gotta come back and reconnect with the victim."

"Hard to see how that would work out. Considering the victim is dead and all."

"I never said it made sense." Don jerked his head toward the gate arching in front of them. "Why don't you go that way? There's a gate on the west side - I'll come in that way."

"Aren't these places supposed to be locked or guarded or something after dark?"

Don adjusted his comlink. "Only by the spirits of the dead," he intoned solemnly.

Colby frowned. "That's not so funny."

Don grinned. "Come on - only difference between now and daytime is that it's dark."

"And it's _Halloween_. It's just - kind of creepy." Don gave him a look and he lifted his hands in surrender. "I'm just sayin'."

"Yeah, well, keep your eyes open for the regular kind of creep. The kind that can shoot you."

Colby nodded, wrinkling his forehead at the arch.

Don slapped his shoulder. "Hey, if you run into any ghostly spirits, just show'em your badge."

Colby scowled, unholstering his gun. "Even less funny."

Don gave him a thumb's up then pushed his shoulder into the brick wall towering above them, using it as a combination guide and cover. The wall tossed an inky shadow, but it looked prosaically normal and static. He chuckled silently, remembering Colby. Who'd 'ave thought? He'd have to see if he couldn't get a conversation on the topic started between Colby and Charlie - that was bound to be entertaining.

Something rustled and he brought his attention back to the task at hand: he was almost to the west gate. He pulled out a small penlight and a fold of paper and traced the route to the grave he had marked. Maybe this would turn out to be a wild goose chase, but something gut-deep told him he was on the right track. He doused the penlight and tucked it back in his pocket, flattened himself against the wall and peered through the gate, orienting himself. There was a breath of wind and a faint whisp of mist hovered over the ground, but otherwise nothing seemed to stir inside. Security lights pockmarked the darkness, allowing sporadic visibility.

_Nobody here but us dead guys. _He smiled to himself. Colby would find that even less funny. He'd have to remember to tell him. He slid silently around the gate, keeping the wall at his back. A thin sliver of moon, alternately hidden and revealed by the scutting clouds, cast a moment's glow on the path at his feet before disappearing again. He reviewed the map in his mind and nodded. _Yeah - this should do it_. He took a few measured steps, gun at the ready. The comlink in his ear hummed, uninterrupted by any input from Colby. It almost seemed as if he was alone here.

_Almost. _Under the trees ahead he thought he caught a flicker of movement and he twisted toward the motion. _Could be the wind in the mist, but_…the moon peeked out again and he could see more clearly - almost preternaturally clearly - the slender figure of what looked to be a young woman. She turned in his direction as though picking him out of the darkness, her face a white oval in the moonlight. She was casually clad in jeans and tall suede boots, red braids swinging around her shoulders.

_Oh, great. A college student, probably, here on some kind of goofy Halloween stunt. _Just what he needed if there really was a dangerous felon visiting a grave here tonight. He lifted a hand to catch her attention, shining the penlight briefly on his badge, though he knew it probably wasn't visible from this distance, then turning slightly to show her the large white letters blazoned on his windbreaker, gesturing her to come closer. She must have seen him, because she stood poised for a lingering moment…then broke into a run.

He groaned inwardly_. Oh, man - don't do that_…he had been hoping to clean this up fairly early and make his way home, where Robin had promised to be waiting with both trick _and_ treat. But his feet were already moving after her, flashlight re-stowed and wrist at his lips. "Colby, there's a civilian here, headed your way - female, about twenty, five foot five, maybe hundred fifteen pounds, red hair, blue jeans. No sign of Grabowski, but she could be with him. Keep your eyes out - " The ground softened and sank under his boot toe and he jerked to an abrupt halt, almost toppling backward, digging in his heels; looked down at his feet. It took him a second, but he could just make out in the blackness of the grass an even blacker rectangle, like a gaping maw, stretching out in front of him. He caught a breath, glanced around at the surrounding grounds and now could distinguish another crouching lump of blackness off to the left - what had to be a mound of earth.

He whistled softly. _Man, that was close_, heard Colby's voice in his ear and turned away from the hole at his feet and lifted his wrist to answer.

Maybe he should tell Colby to watch out for open graves. Didn't need them both taking a six-foot dirt - his lips parted to speak, but he was interrupted by a whistle of air in his left ear and he automatically turned his head in that direction. Something hard and cold and metallic-tasting slammed flat against his face, tossing him backward and into the air. He tasted blood, reached out to grope helplessly at nothingness, and then the earth was there.

It was like being rammed full-length against an iron door - and he knew what that felt like - a bruising, bone-rattling force that scattered sparks across his vision and started a low, dull ringing in his ears. Underneath the ringing he thought he could make out Colby's voice, tried to spit out some of the blood filling his mouth and answer.

Something solid hammered him in the chest, spraying dirt. _What the - ? _He pawed at it, let go to fling an arm over his face as something else drove into his shoulder. _Wait a minute, wait a minute, what was…? _His stomach chilled and rose into this throat, something very like panic fluttering through his veins. This had to be a dream - some kind of a crazy, Halloween dream - somebody couldn't actually be trying to bury him alive…? He brushed at his wrist mike, trying to get it near his mouth.

Another clod exploded near his head and he rolled onto his stomach, tried to push himself up. A new clump smashed him mid-back and he was flat again, on his face, breathing dirt. Heart palpitating wildly, he got an elbow under him, then a palm, nearly made it to his knees. The next hunk struck him viciously in the cheekbone, a direct hit on the swelling wound left by the first blow. The ringing in his ears blasted loud as carillon bells, the sparks behind his eyes loomed huge and hot and white…then blinked out all together.

_TBC_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thanks for the warm welcome back and all the kind reviews. Don's troubles aren't quite over yet**.**_

_**Part 2**_

It was dark.

Which kind of made sense, because it had been night as he recalled, but this was a different kind of dark - lightless.

Suffocating.

Oppressive.

Something was lying over him, like a giant hand, pressing him into the earth, packing his ears and pushing its way into his mouth. He coughed, choked and swallowed dirt, coughed again. He tried to shift to relieve the pressure on his back and lungs but he was hemmed in on all sides - pinned. His heart skipped and froze.

_Okay. _He sort of remembered now…how long had he been out? Probably not too long, or else he'd be…okay. Okay, no point in thinking that way, that wasn't helping anybody. His nose seemed to be in a little pocket of air between his arms, so he'd been lucky. Now he had to assume that he'd continue to be lucky, that it wasn't all going to end after everything he'd been through, with him suffocating yards from help, buried alive in somebody else's grave…

_Okay, no more of that. This was not the time to panic. Panicking wouldn't help anything._

He kept his breathing shallow, not quite managing the whole not-panicking thing, trying to think coolly, logically.

Okay, 1: no way this guy - he had to assume Grabowski, because it would sting to think he had been outdone by a barely post-teenage girl with amazing upper body strength - Grabowski, even with the girl's help - had been able to fill the whole six foot with earth. They used a backhoe for that, didn't they? So he might be buried, but it couldn't be total.

2: Colby was somewhere nearby - he just had to let him know where he was. Which would be easy, in a graveyard, in the dark, at night. On Halloween. When, as it turned out, Colby was a little superstitious.

_Well, hell, okay, Colby was a little superstitious, but he was still a damned good agent and a friend, too, and he wouldn't let a few spooks and goblins keep him from finding his boss, right? Right? Of course he wouldn't._ So his job was to either dig his way out of here or make himself easy to find, or both. Both would be good. Because if the truth be told, he had a little phobia of his own. Claustrophobia. Just a little. Just enough that right now, his lungs were squeezing themselves into a pair of knots, and not just because of the who-knew-how-much dirt that was sitting on top of them.

_Yeah. Okay. No more of that_. Sometimes, despite what Charlie would argue, thinking was not your friend and doing worked better for you. And right now, thinking about how little air…and how long exactly could a person live…? Because unless it was all in his mind he was starting to feel just a little light-headed…yeah. _Enough. DO. _

He pushed one hand forward, felt the dirt shift around it, sifting icily into his sleeve. His knuckles brushed more dirt, but different dirt: slick and solid and cold. He tried to dig his fingers into it, to get a grip and help force himself through the layer lying on top of him, but it only curled away under his nails in small shavings. No help there.

He was really cold now, his teeth crushing against each other, his chest heavy and tight. He had to be careful with his movements - had to conserve what little air he had. His gun was probably gone - lost when he'd taken that unscheduled flight into this hole. Not that it would be much help down here anyway. He didn't hear the slightest hint of static or sound over the comlink. He tried speaking into his wrist anyway, just in case things were working on Colby's end. He could just barely hear his own voice, whether because of the dirt in his ears or the lack of air he couldn't tell.

His diaphragm ached with the effort to breathe, veins in his head huge and pounding. Come on, come on - there must be something else he could use…what about his penlight? Maybe if he pushed it through the dirt it could help Colby find him? Which was really likely because even though there probably wasn't six foot of earth on top of him there was enough to restrict his movement and that tiny little light was gonna be a big help.

Y'know, his dad had a point, actually. His sarcasm wasn't always all that funny.

At the thought of his father he almost groaned aloud. _Dad. _This would be miserable for his dad, if he was pulled out the ground just so he could be moved to a private plot in a Jewish cemetery…_and Robin. And Charlie_…okay, enough of this already. He had a responsibility to survive - there were people counting on him.

He ground his forehead into the cold dirt and tried to focus on pushing his hand through the crushing weight of earth, back and towards his pocket. The air was even thinner now, and he could feel his heart thundering against his sternum, demanding oxygen. Odd lights and colors danced behind his eyes, a high singing in his ears that he was pretty sure wasn't Colby. His fingertips brushed something that wasn't earth - fabric - fumbled and clutched. But his fingers were awkward and clumsy, his grip flaccid. He squeezed his eyes tight shut, concentrating on making his hand close. But the noise in his ears was interfering with his concentration and his hands didn't want to listen to his commands.

He tried to grab a breath to center himself for one more try, but only sucked in dirt, coating his throat and mouth and tickling his lungs. He struggled to cough, to breathe, now hot and cold at once, limbs twitching, fighting. His eyes and chest burned; instinctively, he tried to cry out and ate more dirt instead.

He was starving for air, frantic for light, groped for something, anything; struck only the cold, slick walls of the grave around him as the world flickered out.

_TBC_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Well, I ended up posting at the OTHER end of the day this time. I had been posting in the wee small hours, but last night I got home too late and I just got to sit down now. So here we go._

_Mrs. Graham Cracker…all I can say is…as insightful and perceptive as ever. _

_**Part 3**_

There was a jackhammer between his shoulder blades, digging into his spine, pounding non stop. He wanted to tell it to cut it out, but his lungs didn't seem to be working. He opened his mouth anyway and suddenly he was vomiting mud, rivulets streaming from his nostrils, jaw aching with the strain of cleansing itself.

"Sir - sir, you have to stop - agent, stop hitting him. That can't be - we're here, now, sir - we'll take over."

_Yeah, agent, stop - wait a minute - AGENT? Colby? _

"Sir - Agent - "

"Get in there and stop him!" A side whisper.

"He's got a gun - " An under-breath hiss.

There was an audible breath of disgust, then, "SIR! AGENT! Release him please and step aside so we can help him!"

The jackhammer paused.

_Ouch. Thanks._

"He's not - he's not - is he - dead?"

_WAS that Colby? He sounded so…_

"In my professional experience, sir, a corpse does not vomit like that, so he's alive, but in urgent need of medical attention - here, let me take him - "

There were other hands at his shoulders now, supporting his head, turning him on his side. He seemed to be helpless to assist in any way, all his energy focused on expelling the muck clotting his throat and lungs.

"He's alive?"

Colby sounded so - breathless. Almost as bad as him. He needed to say something reassuring, let him know he was okay. But his lungs wouldn't cooperate, tightening and spasming over and over. The hands at his head were blotting at his face now, forcing something up his nose. He jerked automatically, a frisson of panic at this new obstruction to his airway, jerked again as the blotting reached his swollen cheek.

"Okay, easy, easy…this is going to help, I promise. Wow. Look at that. He get hit with something, or he do that when he fell?"

"Hey, I could use some help over here, too." A different voice, shriller.

"You shut up or you will be needin' help, bet on it."

_Okay - easy, Colb._

"He got hit with that shovel, I figure. There's blood on it, and I bet it matches Don's. Bet the fingerprints match this guy's, too."

_Oh, yeah. Grabowski. Good work, Granger. And a shovel. _Well, that would explain the twenty-one gun salute in his head.

"Shovel? Well, we're going to want an x-ray for the zygomatic bone at the very least. Maybe the orbital socket too. That his name? Don? How you doin', Don? Can you hear me? Don't try to talk - just nod."

_Nod. That used to be easy, didn't it?_

"Then he musta pushed the dirt in - Jesus. Buried him alive. I mean, how could he even survive…?"

"Right now he's surviving fine, sir. Needs some medical attention but he seems fairly stable. Why don't you take a couple of deep breaths yourself?"

"I mean, I'm talking in a _grave_. Buried. Alive. In the dark. If it hadn't been for that little redhead leading me to him, I never even woulda seen him until it was too late. It's not, right? Too late?"

_Redhead. Oh, yeah. The girl with the braids. So maybe she wasn't with Grabowski after all - or she had a change of heart._

"I mean, aren't open graves supposed to be taped off or flagged or something?"

_Maybe they expected to be back at it early. Maybe they didn't think it mattered overnight. Maybe Colby can't hear me think anyway._

"Sir, I want you to swallow this for me. You've had a shock. It will help. He's almost ready for transport. Did you want to ride along?"

"What about me?" The shrill voice again, almost a whine.

"If you're smart, you'll be picking out your own six foot hole. Attempted murder of a federal agent will land you there for sure."

"We might need to wrap your fingers, too, so maybe you'd better ride along. Sheesh, what did you do - dig him out with your bare hands?"

"This one is treat and release - few scrapes - nothing serious. And what looks like it's going to be a heck of a shiner. He fall or something?"

There was a slight pause, then a growl. "Yeah. Or somethin'. You got room in the bus for him?"

Somebody was strapping something around his neck now and then he was lifted, something else solid sliding under his back. He tried a half-hearted lift of hand.

_Wait a minute - what about the girl? Where's she?_

Someone grasped the hand, then there was dabbing at that too. "Some of these nails are torn away, looks like - let's get him in the rig - I'll get a better look in there."

There were new voices all of a sudden, lots of them, too many to keep track of, all talking at once, on top of each other. He thought he heard his name a couple of times, and then he was in motion, gliding.

_What about the girl? _

He tried to ask again, but wasn't sure he was making himself heard over all the bustle, wasn't sure he was making any sound at all.

"Just relax, sir - we'll have you there before you know it. They'll take good care of you."

He opened his mouth to ask for Colby, choked on something in his throat, started coughing. There were loud, fast voices and a lot of movement.

That was the last thing he remembered for a long time.

_TBC_


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: And this concludes my little Halloween tale. Hope you enjoyed it. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing. The end to __**Ice**__ next._

_**Part 4**_

"So, Grabowski?" His voice cracked and he coughed to clear his throat, took a sip from the straw puncturing the plastic cup sitting on the table in front of him and sank back into the pillows supporting his back. His throat still felt like a column of fire and he was parched, endlessly parched, but it felt good to open his eyes and see light.

"Grabowski's goin' down." Colby was sounding a little gravelly himself. "Caught red handed."

"How _did_ he get that black eye, anyway?" He didn't want to sound ungrateful, but if Colby had gone out of control he at least needed to talk to him about it.

David cleared his throat. "Looks like he fell." He nodded solemnly. "Ground looked pretty scuffed up. Evidence points to falling."

Don eyed him suspiciously, opened his mouth to speak, but Nikki jumped in.

"Or maybe he tripped over the shovel." Her face was almost angelic in its ingenuousness. "It was pretty dark out there."

"Can't say I disagree." Robin's voice was her cool prosecutor's voice, but she hadn't loosened her grip on his left hand for a minute since he'd opened his eyes. He couldn't actually feel much through his bandaged fingers, but it was oddly reassuring anyway. "I saw the crime scene. Could happen to anybody in the dark. Around all that wet dirt."

Don narrowed his eyes and studied them, one after another. Nobody so much as flinched. He sighed. _So, it was going to be like that, was it? _He didn't remember the ground as especially damp himself, but he knew when he was outnumbered. He closed his eyes. Everything was still a little blurry.

"Give it up, Donnie." His father's voice was light, despite his haggard, haunted face. "Does it matter anyway? You know the guy is guilty."

_Yeah. _He winced, rubbing absently at his aching throat. _Maybe that's good enough._

"Okay. So, what about the girl? Anybody know where she went?

Colby shook his head ruefully. "Sorry. Once she showed me where you were, she ran off. I had to act fast to get you out - couldn't take the time to pursue. Grabowski swears he didn't know her. Slime bag almost sounds like he's telling the truth."

Don sighed again, winced at the sting it provoked in his throat. "Maybe just some college student anyway. Be nice to at least clear her for real. And thank her."

"What did she look like?"

Don glanced over to where Amita was leaning against Charlie, under the single, night-darkened window. Hard to believe it had been almost twenty-four hours ago that he had been underground, fighting for his life. The memory still made him shiver, so he set the thought firmly aside and focused on the small crowd in his hospital room instead.

He was supposed to be released tomorrow, no permanent harm done. It was a good thing, too, because as far as he knew, people weren't allowed this many visitors at one time. He smiled faintly at the thought, winced again as the motion pulled on the stitches in his left cheek. He was lucky to still have all his teeth.

Robin ran the back of her free hand lightly over his bandaged cheek and caught his eye questioningly. He tried to smile again and ease her mind.

"Red hair in braids. About twenty or so. Five foot five, slight." Colby shook his head. "That's all I could see."

"Red hair in braids." Nikki made a face. "Seriously?"

"That's what I saw." Don closed his eyes again, just for a second. "But like Colby says, it was dark, with just some security lighting. Hard to say for sure."

"Wait a minute." Nikki fished through the files on her lap, selected one and flipped through it. She plucked a photo free and tossed it on the rolling table in front of Don. "That her?"

Don tilted his head at it, then lifted it for a better look.

Colby sank back in his chair. "Sure looks like her."

Don nodded. "Yeah. She was even wearing those boots and jeans. She got a rap sheet? What's she done?"

An odd expression twisted Nikki's face. She pursed her lips and flushed a little. "Nothing. She was a victim."

"Victim?" Don wrinkled his forehead. "Of…?"

Nikki glanced uncertainly at the file again, then shrugged. "Murder."

The room was silent.

"Oh, come on - " Colby's voice was a little higher than normal. "That's crazy - " he maneuvered so he could take another look at the photo Don was still gripping. "It LOOKS like her. But it was dark. That could describe a dozen different girls."

Don swallowed slowly, a faint chill pricking at his skin. "Same boots and jeans, Colb. I recognize them."

Charlie leaned forward so he could snatch the photo out of Don's hand and stared at it himself. "I see dozens of college students every day in jeans and boots like those. It's just a coincidence."

Don massaged his sore ribs with the heel of a taped hand, the chill on his skin intensifying. "What does the file say, Nikki?"

Nikki looked uncomfortable, but at a sharp gaze from Don forced out, "She - um - was murdered a few days ago. No real suspects, not much evidence, but there were enough similarities with the murder we liked Grabowski for that LAPD caught it and sent the file over this morning. About the same age as his victim, similar size and location, similar MO. It was pretty loose, but…" she trailed off.

The room was painfully silent.

Don released his breath in a rush.

Alan breathed something that sounded like a prayer.

Charlie swallowed audibly, then shook himself. "All right, it's an interesting coincidence, even uncanny, but - "

Don sucked in air and interrupted. "Can somebody look into the connection?"

Charlie rested a hand on Don's leg to get his attention. "Don, you can't be thinking - "

"I'm following the evidence, Charlie." His throat felt unexpectedly tight.

"There is one thing more." Nikki squirmed a little. "She - um - she was scheduled to be buried this morning."

David held up his hands. "Don't say it."

She nodded. "Same cemetery where it happened. For all we know…"

Charlie gave a nervous laugh and unconsciously pulled Amita a little closer. "You - you can't all really be thinking…" he trailed off.

Amita moved deeper into his embrace.

Colby shifted uncomfortably.

David coughed uneasily into his fist.

Nikki pulled her jacket a little tighter.

Robin held out a hand for the file. "I'll look into it." Her face was surprisingly soft. "Sounds like it could be the least I owe her."

Alan eyed the file in Robin's hand. "I'd like her name too, if that's all right."

"Of course." Robin gazed at the file, then at Don, her eyes narrowing shrewdly. "And then I think we should call it a night. Don looks worn out."

"You're right." Alan stood and, despite the crowd, kissed Don resoundingly on top of the head. "Sleep tight, Donnie. I'll be by in the morning."

Don looked surprisingly unperturbed by this public display of affection, offering his father a troubled smile.

Charlie lumbered to his feet, bringing Amita up with him. "Yeah, see you tomorrow, bro. Try to stay out of trouble until then, huh?"

Don felt Robin squeeze his hand. "Yeah, funny. See you tomorrow."

"We should go, too." David picked up the briefcase of case files and mug shots and gave a brief salute. "Hurry back to work, huh? It's almost time for the monthly expense reports."

Colby tried to grin. "Yeah, hurry back. David's a tyrant when he's in charge."

Don chuckled, then sobered. "Yeah. Hey, Colb, in case I didn't get a chance to say it earlier - thanks."

Colby shrugged. "Let's just say we're even. And having evened the score, let's not do this any more, okay?"

Don huffed a laugh. "Deal."

"That would certainly work for me," chimed in Alan dryly. "Charlie, you have the keys?"

"Yes, because I'm driving."

Amita reached over and snagged the keys neatly. "Oh, no - no more of this from you two. It's late and it's been a hard day. _I'm_ driving."

Nikki gave her a nod of approval. "I like that. So in that spirit - choose your seats, boys, because _I'm_ driving us back to the office. Take care, Boss. Feel better."

"Yeah, Don. Take it easy. Oh, and Don?" Colby hesitated on the threshold. "If you ever get the urge to do a stakeout in a cemetery on Halloween again? Do me a favor - take one of these two along."

Nikki and David looked at each other.

"Take Liz," David suggested brightly.

"Yeah." Nikki nodded. "Liz loves night ops. Take her. So - you two coming, or you walking?"

She jingled the car keys over her head and exited, a protesting David and Colby hot on her heels.

Don and Robin exchanged a smile at their retreating backs.

"So." Robin ran a fingertip down his damaged cheek. "I'm going to get going too. You look exhausted. Anything you need before I go?"

He shook his head, glanced at the file in her hand.

She smiled knowingly. "I'll look more into this tomorrow and let you know what I find. Get some rest?"

"Nothing else to do in here."

"Right." She leaned forward and gave him a gentle kiss on the lips. "And - no more close calls for a while, okay?"

He smiled into her eyes. "I'll do my best."

"Hm." She rolled her eyes in return. "Guess that's the best I'm going to get. I'll see you tomorrow." Her voice dropped. "I'll miss you."

"Yeah. Me too."

She gave his hand one last squeeze and he watched her move toward the door. His eyes roamed over the file she held one more time and he bit his lip.

"Say, Robin?"

"Hm?" She paused with a hand on the door.

He forced an embarrassed smile.

"Um. Leave the light on?"

_The End_


End file.
